


Sweating in the Winter

by amine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Shameless Smut, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8756959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amine/pseuds/amine
Summary: "But America had a look of such careful concentration on his face that England felt so desperately in love with him that he thought he'd burst."





	

“That's really not a good idea.”

England lowered his teacup to regard America, whose mouth twisted into a frown as he looked away.

“Why not? You know that you're more than capable of doing so,” England said. He set the teacup and saucer to the side, and shifted in his chair to place his full attention on America.

Across the room, America fidgeted and bit his lip, then lifted his head to meet England's eyes. “What's wrong with the way we do it now?”

At that England felt a pang of guilt. He most certainly did not want to pressure America into anything or make him feel inadequate, and he mentally berated himself for not approaching the topic more delicately than “America, I would like you to use all of your strength and fuck me now”.

“There is nothing wrong with it,” England said, fixing an apologetic smile on his face. “And if that is what you would prefer, America, then I'll be more than happy to take you to my bedroom and I'll turn into a sentimental fool from how reverently you treat me when we make love. However, it is one of your fantasies, is it not?”

America blushed and grumbled as he looked away. “Well, yeah, but some things are better kept as fantasies, you know? I just...don't want to hurt you.”

“You wouldn't hurt me, America. I'm not made of porcelain and—”

“I didn't say you were! I just—”

England lifted a hand, stopping America before he could continue. “And,” he started again, and he stood up, crossing the room to gesture for America to stand as well. America complied, and England pushed America's jacket off his shoulders, kissing his neck as he did. He pulled back and smiled.

“I know that you won't hurt me. I...I trust you not to, America.”

America inhaled sharply at that, and England suddenly felt very vulnerable—bare and unguarded, but that was just another thing he could trust America with. He could open up like that and know that America wouldn't let him down.

“You're really okay with it?” America asked, his voice no less anxious than before.

“Yes, I am.” England tried to give America a reassuring smile, but America continued to look concerned.

“And you'll tell me and make me stop if I start to hurt you. You remember our safeword?”

England snorted. There was no way he could forget that word when America had been so giddy about picking it. Hilarious, he called it. “'Sassafras', America. I couldn't forget if I wanted to.”

“I'm serious, England.” America clutched his arm, and the look on his face was deadly serious. England shook his head and reached up to cup America's cheeks with a smile.

“As am I. I promise that you'll know if you're hurting me, but I trust that it won't come to that.”

America's eyes searched his, and England kept a careful smile on his face the entire time until America let out a breath and nodded.

“All right... All right, England. Then let's go to your room, so I can get you ready...”

America started to walk away, but England grabbed his arm and grinned as he produced a bottle of lubricant from his jacket pocket. He waved it then tossed it at America, who caught it with a bewildered look that slowly faded into exasperation.

“Of course you planned this, you old perv.”

“No...I merely like to be prepared. I never know when we might want to ravish each other, after all.”

America scoffed and shook his head, but he pushed England onto the chair he'd previously been occupying. “You're still a fucking perv.”

England laughed and it faded into a contented hum when his jacket and shirt were removed by America. His eyes slid shut, allowing him to fully appreciate the feeling of America's lips slowly moving across his neck.

“No need to dawdle with foreplay, America. Just get on with it.”

“Hmm.” It was just a hum, but England knew from the sound of it that there would be no arguing with America. If he wanted foreplay, there would be foreplay. England just had to sit back and enjoy it—something he really was more than happy to do.

He hadn't been lying when he said that he became sentimental over the way America treated him. It was always with such reverence and care that America touched him, and England—always believing that he was ugly or worthless—could actually believe when America said he was amazing. America could do such wonderful, terrible things to him far too easily.

England arched appreciatively into America's touch, allowing himself some selfish indulgence while America was catering to his whims. America's hands and lips skittered down the length of his body, stopping only momentarily to remove his trousers and briefs before they picked up where they left off. England shivered when America's feather light kisses brushed against the inside of his thigh.

His eyes opened when he heard a bottle pop open, but they closed again when America began kissing him. He could only enjoy the kissing for a moment before America slipped a lube covered finger into him, causing him to grimace. Too cold. America pulled away and kissed his forehead in apology, then moved his mouth down to suck at his neck instead.

England gritted his teeth and tried to focus on America's mouth instead of his finger, which turned into more fingers. England almost had to laugh at how carefully America was stretching him when it wouldn't really matter when he was actually fucking him.

“America. Enough,” he finally said and sat up, reaching out to grab America's wrist. America nodded and pushed off his jeans and boxers, which he haphazardly tossed to the side. England's grumbling about being too sloppy was met with a pointed look, but America didn't comment as he coated his cock with a liberal amount of lube. England eagerly allowed America to lift him into his arms, and England noted the very effortless way in which America held him in midair.

“All right, sweetheart. Don't be afraid to stop me if it's too much,” America said into England's ear.

England started to respond, but it turned into a gasp when America thrust into him all at once and didn't wait before he pulled out and thrust in again. England clawed at America's back, wrapping his legs around America as he tried to match the already frantic pace.

“So this is what you like, England? Knowing that I can do this kind of thing to you? How about I bend you over in midair, too?

England gasped again and found himself on his back and suspended in midair by America's arm hooked underneath him. He stared in bewilderment at the ceiling before he shifted his gaze to the cocky smile on America's face. Despite the rush it gave him knowing that America could fuck him in midair, it still wasn't what he had asked for, and he frowned.

“America. Harder, damn it.”

America's smile faded, and England thought for a moment that he would stop, but instead he was swung into America's arms again with effortless ease. He didn't have any time to cling to America before he was slammed against the wall. If England had wanted America to be rough and use his strength, he got his wish up against the wall. America held his hip with bruising force with one hand and braced the other against the wall as he pounded into him. England clawed at the wall and threw his head back before he let it fall limply at his shoulder. Around him, the bookcase rattled with each thrust, and books began to fall to the floor. Paintings hung on the wall also began to fall, but the thought of what a terrible mess they were making and whether or not England would have to replace anything later was lost on him. He was too busy being lost in a euphoric haze.

America could easily break him if he wanted to. For him, it would be as easy as snapping a twig in two—no effort at all. But America had a look of such careful concentration on his face that England felt so desperately in love with him that he thought he'd burst. Each thrust had such force behind it—enough to hurt and burn in a way that was pleasant. Just a little more and America really would hurt him, but America was being so careful to not let that happen. England smiled—shaky and open-mouthed—and lifted a trembling hand to rest on America's cheek.

“Love you,” he said.

Something sparked in America's eyes, and he pulled out. England whined, but once again he found himself swung easily into America's arms. Although he knew he was nowhere near weak or helpless, he had to admit that it was a thrill to be so easily handled by America. America was the only one he would ever trust or allow to do such a thing to him.

With one swipe of his arm, America knocked everything clean off England's desk before he slammed England on top of it, and England let out a groan of pain as his head smashed too hard against the old wood. America's hand gently caressed the spot that had connected, and he bent down to kiss England's temple.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

Rather than wait for a reply, he thrust in again, immediately causing the desk to scrape across the wood floor. England gritted his teeth and gripped at the edge of the desk as best as he could with America pounding into him. Although he tried to thrust back against America, he found that each attempt was futile and he wound up knocked back each time. In the end, he writhed and groaned and murmured America's name when he wasn't gasping. His toes curled in abject pleasure—he really should have suggested this sooner.

The desk finally hit the wall and the precarious slamming started to be accompanied by the sound of wood splintering. America was going to break the desk. A well built, sturdy wood desk and America was going to break it. England nearly came at the thought.

Just when there was an audible and foreboding crack, America pulled out once more, and England let himself go limp and be carried by America out of the library and down the hall into his bedroom. Once there England was turned around and thrown face first against the bed. America pushed his head down, but pulled his hips up and lined up his cock to thrust back in. England buried his face in his arms and dug his nails into the duvet. He was seeing stars, and although he would have liked for America to just manhandle him all night, he wasn't going to last much longer.

“England, England. Is it good?” America asked against his ear, bending forward to angle his hips just right.

England moaned in response and his eyes widened when America's hand closed around his cock, jerking him just as roughly as he was thrusting into him. That was too much stimulation and he clawed at the duvet as he muffled his cry against the bed. America came not long after.

America's arm slipped out from under him, and England fell limp against the bed. When he regained enough coherency he rolled over and smiled up at the ceiling. Next to him, America grumbled.

“I was going to ask if you're okay, but you look way too fucking pleased with yourself.”

“Hmm?” England turned to give America a dreamy look, and America scowled.

“So is that the only way I'll be able to please you from now on?” America pouted and England sat up. He winced, and he knew it would only be worse in the morning, but it was completely worth it. He pushed America onto the bed and kissed him soundly.

“My love, no matter what you do to me, it will always please me.”

America's face lit up with a brilliant smile and he reached up to ruffle England's hair.

“Damn pervy old man.”

England snorted, then bent down to kiss America again. “I love you, too.”


End file.
